Whose (You Know) Is She (You Know)?

WHOSE "You Know" IS SHE "You Know"?
by: Matthew Terry
FACEBOOK : https://www.facebook.com/tplxwrestling?fref=nf
TWITTER : https://twitter.com/UrSpitngImg

E-Mail : yourspittingimage@gmail.com

Have you ever been watching a television show that you, probably, have never seen before and in the act of watching the show you see an actress that catches your eye. Then half way through the show you cannot help yourself. You must sit up, point at the screen and say "Whose (You Know) is she (You Know)?"

To try and spend time with a young lady that I wanted to spend time with, I started to watch a soap opera called Passions. She wanted to watch Passions, so I wanted to watch Passions. Some guys will get what I'm talking about. To those saying "You watched a soap opera to get next to a woman?" I say, first off, yes. Second, Passions had a witch, a little boy that turned into a doll, a mind reading girl and a blind priest that could sense evil, so if there was a soap opera to be watched, this was it. One of the girls was Charity, played by Molly Stanton. If I remember correctly, she was the mind reading girl that was in love with Miguel but didn't think it was fair not to tell him about her secret power and therefore refused to allow herself to be with him. Remember, I did say it was a soap opera. Now Charity was a focal point of Passions, which is all fine if myself and even the young lady I was trying to court were not looking at the screen and saying "Whose (You Know) is she (You Know) to be on this show?" Yes it was a soap opera, but even by what I consider soap opera standards her acting was way over the top and stuck out so far from all others on the show that you could not help but wonder whose (you know) was she (you know).

Fast forward several years and I see a commercial pass across my TV screen. This commercial was for a show called Do Not Disturb. And within this commercial I saw the (you know) girl. I had no idea what her name was at the time. In fact, I didn't know her name until the idea for this blog came to mind and I found it online. So, the (you know) girl is on Do Not Disturb. I have no real interest in watching the program. No aspect of the commercial made me want to watch it. I was not simply turned off by the fact that (you know) girl was on it. That being said, one night while looking through the guide I came across Do Not Disturb. With lack of better options I decided to try it out. I remember thinking when I started the show "Maybe I'll like the show. And as far as (you know) girl, maybe soap operas were not her strength. Maybe she would excel more in a sitcom/comedy type of environment." I also remember finishing the show and thinking "Good for her, she's still (you know) someone's (you know)."

Fast forward several more years and I am watching one of my absolute favourite series, Law & Order : SVU. And who should appear on my screen, but Molly "You Know" Stanton. I will now take this opportunity to appologize to any Moly Stanton fans who disagree with my assesment that Ms. Stanton cannot act. I will also appologize to Molly Stanton because I may have been harsh with my words insinuating that she (you know) anyone's (you know) to garner the roles that she has achieved. Her perfromance on SVU was bang on. She did not seem out of place, she did not overact and she played her part perfectly. She played someone that was under arrest. For doing what you might ask? You know.

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

That "Whole Other Blog" 2

That "Whole Other Blog" 2

by: Matthew Terry
FACEBOOK : https://www.facebook.com/tplxwrestling?fref=nf
TWITTER : https://twitter.com/UrSpitngImg

E-Mail : yourspittingimage@gmail.com


This entry derives from UNEMPLOYED PIECE OF GARBAGE - http://yourspittingimage.blogspot.ca/2015/07/unemployed-piece-of-garbage.html

My friend, the one who is unemployed actually, called me one day and told me that I needed to get BBM. I have no clue about new technologies or software or services of any kind. My mindset is still back in a day when having two phones, in one house, was a luxury. Now, I almost feel embarassed to carry around a mini computer that can also make phone calls no matter where the heck my fat butt is standing. But I digress.

He tells me that I need to get BBM. I ask him what that is, and as I'm sure 100% of you already knew, it is a messaging system that at one point was apparently exclusive to Blackberrys. He tells me that I can now download BBM onto my I-Phone and him and I can message back and forth. My response to this was that my name is attached to a home phone, a cell phone, a business phone, an e-mail address, a FACEBOOK account, a TWITTER feed, something called SNAPCHAT, Instagram and Pinterest. That is nine different forms of communication. Most of which is, thanks to my phone, at my fingertips at all times. If he is having difficulty getting a hold of me at any time, he just is not trying hard enough. However, he explains to me that for instant contact BBM is best for him because it doesn't count against his long distance, his cell phone minutes or his text limits. So, I download the damn BBM.

Now, I told you all of that so I could tell you this. I hate answering machines. As lyrical as I can be, I always feel like I freeze up or stumble when it comes to the answering machine. Not to mention that I am the streotypical "Is that what I actually sound like?" when I hear any type of recording of my voice. So, it's a self conscience thing. But it's also a "I don't need to leave a message thing too. There are so many forms of communication today that if I really need to contact someone, I can figure out some way to contact everyone. Yesterday I wrote about how I left a "funny" message on my friend's answering machine, only to have him call back and say that he had not listened to the message, he simply saw my name pop up on his call display. Why the heck should I need to leave an answering machine message when when 99.9% of phone owners have a call display function? Now, my friend needs to take the time to call his voicemail box, listen to my message, which he already knows what it says, then delete it. That may not sound like much, but that's time consuming. (Not really, but I'm trying to vent here.)


There are days when I want to take my cell phone, laptop and tablet and just lock them away in a closet. Just give them up all together. But owning my own business and needing a line of communication for outside bookings, in this day and age, requires that I have these things to try and keep up with the competition. I guess in my perfect world, a glitch that no one saw coming. That not one single technical marvel could foresee. That two that shows up inside of those zeros and ones would come along. For whatever reason every cell phone loses signal, every Wi-Fi is gone offline and every web site is completely useless and all the brilliance in the world scratches their head's and says "I just don't know."

Even for a day or two. I think it would be good for everyone.

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

Dedicated to Mom who always complained I never left messages on her answering machine. Miss you.

Unemployed Piece Of Garbage

UNEMPLOYED PIECE OF GARBAGE




by: Matthew Terry
 FACEBOOK : https://www.facebook.com/tplxwrestling?fref=nf
TWITTER : https://twitter.com/UrSpitngImg
E-Mail : yourspittingimage@gmail.com

A good friend of mine has recently become unemployed. By no fault of his own, mind you. He simply wasn't able to meet the quotas that were put in front of him. Which may sound like fault of his own, but allow me to clarify. Without getting specific, my friend not making his quotas equates to someone saying they will pay you $1000 to move a large pile of sand down one block using only a wheelbarrow, and you have twenty minutes to do it. The money is good and they have given you the right tools, but you know going in that the task is near impossible. He gave it a shot, but couldn't get the sand moved in time. He's okay with it because he saw the hopelessness going in. Now, he's unemployed and I still haven't gotten to the main point of today's blog.

I called him the other day, two days after his release (so everyone can follow along), and got his answering machine. I'm a little odd with answering machines to begin with, but with good friends, it's beyond that. As soon as I heard the beep I proclaimed "Hey, you unemployed piece of garbage. It's two o'clock in the afternoon. Get your a** up and actually do something." Which doesn't sound nearly as funny reading it back at this moment, but at the time, hilarious.

He called me back a couple minutes later, without hearing the message. He simply saw my number and called back. Which is a whole other blog two*. I told him what the message said and in the moment. he laughed. Not hard laugh, but laughed. Okay, maybe it wasn't that funny in real time either, but that's not the point. The point is that I said it and it got my brain thinking.

What is the timeline allowable for making jokes about an unemployed friend simply to try and cheer them up and help them not get down on the situation? Can I make a joke two weeks from now? The severance will start coming in, so he'll still have an income. How about two months from now? Knowing him like I do he'll be pretty squirrely by then from not being able to lock something down. How about six months from now? Resources can only bring you so far, and the well may be close to dry by that point. Can you make a joke while the guy is carrying his TV to the pawn shop?

I can say all this because he's my very good friend. This blog, in and of itself, is to try and cheer him up and help keep his chin north of his breast bone. He is very good at what he does and can adapt to a new environment if he truly needs to. I certainly do not foresee him without work six months from now. If he is, I'm going to have some explaining to do. Because that won't be funny.

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

* - Foreshadowing

I Am Not A Man

I AM NOT A MAN


by: Matthew Terry
FACEBOOK : https://www.facebook.com/tplxwrestling
TWITTER: https://twitter.com/UrSpitngImg
E-MAIL: yourspittingimage@gmail.com

I am not a "man". Emphasis on the quotation marks.

I am male, yes. And no, this is not me admitting who I truly am inside. Although, I suppose it is me proclaiming something that I have known for a very long time. I am not a "man". At least not by majority's definition.

I don't do the strip club thing. I have been to strip clubs. I have outwardly enjoyed strip clubs. However, inside I have never really enjoyed strip clubs. The first time I patrionized a strip club a naked woman danced in front of me. No surprise. Awkwardness, but no surprise. Then ... another naked woman danced in front of me. Little less awkward. Then ... another naked woman danced in front of me. Less awkward. After that naked woman danced in front of me, another naked woman danced in front of me. By this point I'm just grooving to the music and wondering where my rum and coke is. Point being, I know that this woman, or that woman or the women that bookended those two women, are not looking to date me or even come home with me. Boiled down it's a form of entertainment. Ladies and gentlemen dancing for your enjoyment by literally shaking what God gave you.


I don't hunt. Maybe you don't need to be the definitive "man" to be a hunter, but I think it certainly adds to the enjoyment of the whole thing. Actually, I digress, I do like to hunt sometimes. I like to do the Elmer Fudd tiptoe through the woods carrying a .22 rifle, and find things to shoot type of hunting. But tree blinds or crouching down inside a bush, while staying completely silent and remaining 100% focused on the salt lick or crab apples you have left as lure, is in no way enjoyable to me. I lose focus five minutes in. I cannot sit still for a long period of time doing absolutely nothing but focusing on one single task. Although, I do enjoy fishing, which is odd. Then again, if I cast out my bobber and stare at it to the point of boredom, I can look around at other things and check on the bobber every once and a while. Heck, I can walk away and get something out of the car, cook some food, take a pee in the bushes (hopefully not on a hunter) and still come back and see if that bobber is still ... bobbing.

I don't own a pickup truck. Oh man, the pickup trucks. To supplement my income I umpire softball. There are ladies leagues, there are co-ed leagues and there are, of course, men's leagues. Of the three, my preference certainly goes Ladies, Co-Ed and then Men. The ladies are my favourite due to the fact that they generally just want to have more fun playing than caring who's winning and who's losing. That and they look alot better in ball pants. Although the women may disagree on that point, but that's to be expected. At the opposite end of the scale, the men's leagues are nothing but sausage casings of testosterone and pickup trucks. The need to win and win convincingly is first and foremost on all of their minds. Even if it plainly says in the league name "Fun League". And finishing up for the night is always trying to find my vehicle in what basically amounts to a Dodge Ram dealership. Folks, I drive an SUV and I have issues finding my vehicle in a forest of oversized half-tons, three quarter tons and whatever other designated weight those things come in. But I know they need to be heavy. I saw it with my own eyes when a player bought himself a new truck and was showing it to his "buddies" only to have them say "that small a** piece of s*** is not a truck. It's a matchbox toy." Apparently "My truck is bigger than your truck." is a game "men" like to play. I don't play that game, so I guess that's another check in the "You're Not A Man" tally.

So, in an effort for everyone to get to know me a little better, I'm not a "man". Sometimes I can adapt to my surroundings like the chameleon I can sometimes be, but it doesn't take long for the pride to sniff out the pretender that I am trying to be and shunning me from the herd. You'd think I'd be upset or feel inadequate by not being what I suppose I'm bred to be. To be honest, sometimes it does cross my mind. Then I remember I am how I am and I still go home to my sexy wife in my beautiful home and I think to myself "Who cares?"

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

That "Whole Other Blog"

THAT "WHOLE OTHER BLOG"
by: Matthew Terry
FACEBOOK : https://www.facebook.com/tplxwrestling
TWITTER: https://twitter.com/UrSpitngImg



When I blog about someone, I'm always worried I'm going to offend that person. Even if I'm writing good things. Words and their meanings are subjective. "You have a beautiful wife." "You want to screw my wife?!" It's all in how you interprut the words that are said or written. I told a very good friend, talking like guys do, that he had a very hot girlfriend. His response was "Ummm ... we're not swinging if that's what you're getting at." Which, I wasn't. Although in hindsight ... Point being, Kevin Smith, the subject of this "whole other blog", won't care in the least, no matter what I say because Kevin Smith feels that if you have less than three hundred followers, your opinion means nothing. So, I fall way under the wire on that one. Whew. Pressure gone.
First, the term "whole other blog" comes from yesterday's blog where I profess my new found admiration for Marc Maron -(http://yourspittingimage.blogspot.ca/2015/07/pleased-to-meet-you-mr-maron.html) Within that blog I state that I have theories about Kevin Smith's anger but that is a "whole other blog". Please note, these are theories. Not facts, not educated guesses and not any kind of opinion based on personal or professional interation with Kevin Smith. Kevin Smith and I have never met. I have reached out to him, he has not responded. I have professed my love of his work to him. Nothing in return. I have written e-mails, tweets and facebook messages to Kevin Smith and have seen not one single response. Kevin Smith ... wait, starting to sound a little bitter. Save that for later.

What is my theory to Kevin Smith's anger? It's the weed. It is my humble observation that when Kevin Smith "chain-tokes" or is able to smoke freely in his environment, he either gets very giggly, or gets very angry. Emphasis on the verys. Check out Smith's Smodcast with Chris Jericho (http://smodcast.com/episodes/smod-is-jericho/) and you will hear giggly. Check out Marc Maron's WTF Podcast that I referenced yesterday (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a56YGrR8w9o) and you will hear anger. There are other examples throughout, especially the SMODCAST library (http://smodcast.com/channels/smodcast/). In just about every single episode of that particualr podcast, I find Smith either annoyingly giggly or annoyingly angry. However, when I check out Smith's other podcast ventures, like Jay & Silent Bob Get Old (http://smodcast.com/channels/jay-silent-bob-get-old/) or Hollywood Babble-On (http://smodcast.com/channels/hollywood-babble-on/), I find Smith very entertaining, charismatic and funny. The difference between the former and the latter is that Smith can continueously toke away while doing SMODCAST or being a guest on WTF, but on Get Old and Babble-On, Smith admittingly "gets baked" immediately prior to the show and then reports to the stage. Where, of course, he cannot indulge out in public.


Now seems like a good time to once again state, these are opinions. These are theories. These are thoughts in my mind. I concern myself with entertaining you who read this blog. I don't concern myself with Kevin Smith because Kevin Smith is admittedly not concerned with me. However, I would like to say to each and every person reading this that you are appreciated deeply. The fact that sometimes as many as forty people read this amazes me. Even the offerings that garner ten or less views make me smile because someone is reading it. Someone is entertained by what I offer.  I don't care how far below three hundred I fall, you all mean something to me.  (There's the bitterness.)

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

Pleased To Meet You Mr. Maron

PLEASED TO MEET YOU MR. MARON
by: Matthew Terry
TWITTER :     https://twitter.com/UrSpitngImg
FACEBOOK : https://www.facebook.com/tplxwrestling
E-MAIL :         yourspittingimage@gmail.com



People may have noticed that I've been a little different as of late. My writing has been different. My thought process has been different. In fact, I'm writing alongside that thought process. I found something that smartened me to the fact that, "I can do that? I can write the same way I think? I can dispense my thoughts rapidly? The exact same way they fly through my head." I have Marc Maron to thank for that.

I actually found Marc Maron a little while ago. I saw him on television doing stand-up at the Montreal Just For Laughs Festival. He was sitting on a stool and just talking. Not really making jokes, just talking. And I loved it. However, when watching Just For Laughs without a PVR, you need to take note of their names as they come on stage, it flashes on the screen for about five seconds, because otherwise, there is no going back. I wanted to know this guy's name, but there was no going back.

Then, Barack Obama dropped the N-Bomb on a podcast. I hate the N-Bomb. I hate people saying around me, even if I don't hate that person. Really, I didn;t care if Barack Obama used the word, but it was news, so I wanted to hear it in context. So I found it, like most things in the GOOGLE age, really easily. The photo that came on had Obama and that guy from the stool. I now knew he was Marc Maron. I listened to the Obama podcast. Loved it. Listened to a selection of the other podcasts. Loved them too. Bought "Attempting Normal". Read it, read it to my wife and am reading it again. Then, while looking for other podcast treasures, I found WTF Pocast With Marc Maron : Kevin Smith. This is where things got nasty. I should have known.

You see, I used to be a Kevin Smith Guy. I was a Kevin Smith Guy when I found Marc Maron. To put it into perspective, in hindsight, Maron was a woman I met and really fell for, but I was married to Kevin Smith. I kept thinking about Maron, but I was loyal to Kevin Smith. Then, I ran into Maron again, still had those head over heels feelings, but I was still married to Kevin Smith. Now, oh God, Marc Maron and Kevin Smith were going to be in the same place at the same time. This is intriguing, yes, because I haven't done anything with Maron, but at the same time, you know this can't be good. And it wasn't.

For the first three quarters of the podcast, everything was wonderful, my man Kevin and my mental mistress Marc are on point. They're funny, they're witty, they're telling stories. Then, we get to the whole "Too Fat To Fly" thing. Being a Kevin Smith guy, I had heard about it, of course. I compare it to that one thing that you hate bringing up with your wife because you hate how angry it makes her. Unfortunately, everyone wants to talk about it. So, Kevin goes off on his usual tirade and tells the "I am TWITTER. I'll show you." story. Which is a little pompous, but I don't blame the guy for using the resources at his disposal. Then, it got bad. For me anyway. You see, I always found Kevin Smith more "I was someone no one liked and I made good regardless." While at the same time remembering and respecting what not being liked meant. Still very relatable. However, during the podcast, Smith went over the top. For me anyway. He started into "I am Kevin Smith, who the f*** are you?" Lines like "If you don't have 300 followers (you mean nothing to me.)" "So what, I'm fat. I can f*** your wife. And if I can't f*** her, I can buy her." I have my theories about Kevin Smith and his anger, but that is a whole other blog. Plus, what do I really know about Kevin Smith? I've never interacted with the guy. Which is odd because I have reached out several times, especially on TWITTER and the TWITTER Whore (I mean that in a good way) has never acknowledged me. I still like Kevin Smith's work. I truly do, I just don't really like Kevin Smith. Which, to me, sounds like a great deal for Kevin Smith. "So, this guy likes my work, keeps giving me his money and I don't need to meet him on a personal level? Awesome."

WANT TO HEAR THE PODCAST? : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a56YGrR8w9o

So, I have entered into a trial separation with Kevin Smith. I'm pretty sure he's fine with it. I'm probably more heartbroken then he is. But Marc seems nice. He treats me better. He relates to me better. He talks a lot nicer to me.  Do I blame him for exposing this side of Kevin Smith to me and ultimately causing my estrangement?  No, I think it would have happened anyway.

   I think we might be happy together as long as things progress nicely. I'm sure he's okay with me still checking in with Kevin every once and a while, just to see how he's doing. I think everything is going to be just fine.

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

Meet Marc Maron ...
Website:              http://www.wtfpod.com/
Twitter:               https://twitter.com/marcmaron
Facebook:           https://www.facebook.com/WTFPodcast?fref=ts

Bitter Feelings

BITTER FEELINGS
by: Matthew Terry

We're selling a bookshelf/cabinet type piece of furniture. This isn't an ad for that. In fact, it's probably no longer available while I write this. In another fact, the fact that in fact it's no longer available brings me to the fact I'm trying to cover. Someone sent me a message asking if it was still available and that they could pick it up at my convenience. Here's my response.
Yes, it is still available.

As far as convenience, if you'd like it today, I will check with the availability of my wife. She's on vacation while I go to work (Yes, a little bitter). Tomorrow, we can do it anytime after seven. Keep in mind, it's not light. Happy to help move it out, but may need help.

-Cheers
So, now may be a good time to explore the bitter feelings that I seem to have about my wife being on vacation while I find myself at work. Keep in mind, I'm not bitter with my wife. Hopefully that becomes clear as you read.

My wife works for the YMCA of Niagara. She's a Child and Youth Specialist. I call her a very glorified babysitter. I say that, we laugh (I laugh). She watches children all day at a daycare. A very good daycare with a very good program to help educate and help develop children. She is also very good at her job. She has a very good education and has a very good reputation within her field. So, bottom line, my wife is a very good employee for a very good employer. As I already suggested, she gets vacation time. Well deserved vacation time.

I, on the other hand, own my own business. Well, we own our own business. Okay, in the interest of full disclosure, there are five of us that actually "own" the business. I don't anyone misinterpruting my statement. That being said, for better or for worse, I am the business. I am the guy that runs the business, negotiates for the business, works every signle aspect on every single day. Literally, every single day. We have owned this business for close to four and a half years and I have been here every single day the open sign has been illuminated. Yet, I do not get vacation time.

See why I'm bitter. I'm not bitter at any one person. Just the fact that the time is not available, the circustances don;t allow it and frankly, the finances won't allow it. For me to take a vacation, I would need to close the store. Thankfully, our business never experiences a true down time. There is no point where we would not busy and therefore, may as well take some time for myself. My partners know little things here and there about the store, but not nearly enough to manage it for a week. And to be totally honest, the store needs to remain open to pay the bills.

Someone once told me that the reward to owning your own business is that your time will come when your older and can reep the rewards that you have built over three or four decades. The problem with that is, with inflation, Cuba won't be getting any cheaper. I've beaten my body up over the years already and I'd hate to see what a 65-70 year old Matthew Terry will be looking like. And most of all, I have a hot wife that I want to show off now, not later.

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

Getting Too Real

GETTING TOO REAL
by : Matthew Terry

My mom passed away six weeks ago. That part has always been real. I believe that that has actually happened. Don't get me wrong, I've said the words "I can't believe she's gone." , but that's just what people say. She's gone, I know that.

The furniture that I grew up with is gone. I know that that is true. My brother and I split everything relatively easily. We had the "You want this?"/"You want that." conversation. We're lucky we get along on a good level, otherwise this could be harder than it already has been. The dining set, the hope chest, the credenza, the wall unit and such have been there for as long as I can remember. The house around it changed, but they were always there. It sounds silly, I'm sure, but seeing those things go was a little tough. But, neither of us had any need or room for any of it, so it needed to be done.

We're driving my mom's car. I know that it's my name on the owndership. I know that it's my garage that it's sitting inside of. I know that it was me that put the money into the safety and car bombing (yes, I wrote car bombing) of the car (Mom was a heavy smoker so they needed to "bomb" the car.) But when I drive it, and when my wife drives it too, I'm sure, it's my mom's car. I know it's legally and literally not her car anymore, but it's my mother's car.

The house has made it too real. Up to this point it has been "What do we ask for it?", "What's out bottom line price?", "Should we pay someone to take over forty years of cigarette smoke out of the house?" Which we did. We didn't need to bomb the house, but it may have been a realistic option. All easy stuff. Things that I had very little trouble analyzing and deciding. Now, there has been interest in the house. Now, someone wants answers about how old the roof is, things about the furnace, the age of the hot water heater. Someone wants my childhood home. The last bastion of my childhood in Osgoode, Ontario is close to no longer being in the Terry family.

I want to keep my childhood home. I have all along. I can't. Financially, I think I could manage it. Geographically, not so much. I live in Welland. My wife is born, bred and apparently rooted in Welland. I can't live in Osgoode and I can't afford to move the house here. This may sound grandious, but it's reality inside my head. I'm trying to think of options that allow me to keep the house. I know I won't keep the house. It's better if I don't keep the house. It's better if I let the house go. It's better if someone takes the baton from here.

I told my brother I would much rather a young couple starting out would be my prefered choice for a buyer, rather than someone who simply wants to flip the house and make a dime off of it.

Fingers crossed.

Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

Definition Of Courage

Definition Of Courage
by Matthew Terry

the ability to do something that frightens one.

"she called on all her courage to face the ordeal"

strength in the face of pain or grief.

"he fought his illness with great courage"





It's all subjective. It's all a matter of opinion. You can say that a hockey player suffering a cardiac episode, then getting up and wanting to get back into the game is courageous. But definitively, to me, that's wrong. To be courageous is to face a fear. To be courageous is to attempt to conqueur with the knowledge that odds are not in your favour. This man was felled by his heart. He was revived. He was brought back to conciousness. Then he demanded to be allowed back into the game. Despite his fear of dieing on the spot he wanted nothing more then to ... play hockey. Participate in a game that meant very little in the standings of the league. Participate in a game that by the time he "courageously" demanded to return to, was long since postponed by the league. What fear did he face head on? What mountain did he demand to conquer?

Do you remember the jock in school? The guy who was on all the teams. The guy that seemingly could do anything. The guy that when he won the annual awards, you said "Of course he did." That guy was the freaking man. You wanted to be him. You wanted to be looked at like him. You wanted to be revered like him. At least for an hour of a day, if not the full twenty-four hours. Now, picture him telling you "I think I want to be a woman." Doesn't even need to be school. Take the guy that excels in the beer league. Baseball in the summer, hockey in the winter and golf when he can find the time. We all have one. Even if you are one, you hang out with your same ilk. One night, he looks at you and says "I think I'm really a woman." How scared is someone to say that? How scary is it to admit that? How scary is it, knowing that it's not going away. Day after day after day after day ... it's there.

Good on the hockey player who's heart stopped. Day by day he has gotten better and better. The man that is now a woman? His heart stops every morning. Her heart stops when she walks out the front door. Their heart stops every time they look someone in the eye.

How Could I Forget About Max?

     Last week I crafted a blog about the dogs that have enlightened my life.  My wife however asked me why I did not include a very special and beautiful huskie dog that we only knew for a very short amount of time.  Allow me to introduce everyone to Max.

     It was New Year's Eve several years ago.  We had a group of friends and family over to the house to celebrate the changing of the calendar.  After partying, cheering and partying a little bit longer, we were out front saying goodbye to the last of our guests.  As we were standing there, an absolutely beautiful creature approached us.  As I'm sure you can guess, it was the afore mentioned husky dog, Max.  Max had a beautiful coat, was very well groomed and was obviously very well taken care of.  He also had something else.  A leash.  A leash that did not have a human counterpart at the other end.  I began hoping that there was not someone passed out in snowbank or ditch close by.

     We figured that this beautiful animal must belong to someone, so checked his tags.  They said that he lived in Brantford, Ontario, Canada.  A good two hour drive from where we stood.  Without any other leads to his owner, I called the number on the tag.  Worst case scenario I will contact someone who knows Max and can contact the person who should have Max.  I got an answering machine and left my name and phone number, and of course, the fact that I had their dog.

     I came up with the plan, without any assistance from alcohol, that I would take Max for a walk and maybe he would instinctively take me back from where he came.  Sounds odd I know, but the other option was to hold onto Max overnight.  I pictured Max at around four n the morning letting out a "You guys are great and all, but I wanna go home.  Aaaaaaa Ewwwww!!!"  So, off for a walk we went.  Just as we started our trek, a police car flew around the corner.  It briefly stopped, but then sped past us.

     Now Max was no help at all.  I don't really blame him, he wasn't from the area after all.  As we aimlessly walked around, I heard a really faint call for "Maaaax."  It was faint and I asked my wife if she heard it too.  She agreed that someone was saying something.  We then heard "Maaaaax." a little louder.  As we turned around, we saw a woman running towards us, again calling out "Maaaax."  Obviously, we had found someone who knew out four legged friend.  Before the lady got to us, the police officer stopped by us and asked if we had found the dog.  We said we had and he drove off.

 

     The lady reached us and could not thank us enough for finding him.  She asked I we lived in the area.  At this point, we were standing directly in front of our house and pointed it out.  After a couple more minutes of thanks, she again asked if we lived close by.  Again, we pointed out that we lived in the house right in front of us.  After a couple more minutes, she asked if we had far to get home.  Obviously, it was a good new year.

     A couple weeks later there was a knock on our door.  The lady at the door asked if I was Matthew, which of course I was.  She said she wanted to thank me for everything I did for Max.  I drew a blank.  My wife works in a daycare and my only thought was it was a parent of one of her kids.  My wife walked over and I repeated that she wanted to thank us for everything we did for Max.  My wife, who is the smartest person I know on Earth, knew what the lady was talking about, but could tell I didn't.  After reminding me about out New Year's friend, I clued in.  The lady gave us a Tim Horton's card to say thank you.

   Even after several days, I find myself still thinking of that poor dog that got dropped in the Welland Canal with his legs hog tied and two bullet wounds in his head.  Last I heard, not one single lead had been given to the proper authorities.  I write these stories of past pooches in my life as a dedication to a dog who left in a completely wrong way.

     Just so we're not leaving each other on a sour note.  The story as I understand it was that there was a New Years party.  Someone thought it would be a good idea to take Max for a walk.  Some time later, that person returned to the party, without Max.  When asked where the dog was, this person simply responded with "I don't know."  This caused the owners to start banging on doors around the neighbourhood looking for the dog.  Keep in mind that this is around one-thirty, two o'clock in the morning.  Hence, the reason neighbours were annoyed.  Annoyed enough to call the police.

     By the way, The Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

- Matthew Terry

A Man And His Dogs

Follow me on TWITTER @UrSpitngImg

     I know, I know, I'm trying to get away from the negativity.  But when something so negative consumes you, you become negative yourself.  Rather than wait until Monday when my passion, and frankly disgust, dissipates, I'm going to address this today.

http://www.niagarafallsreview.ca/2015/04/30/dog-hog-tied-shot-and-dumped-in-wellands-recreational-canal

     The Reader's Digest version of the above article is that someone, or a group of people, hog tied a dog and then shot her in the head with a small caliber weapon.  Obviously to most people, this is disgusting.  Most people I say, because obviously there is at least one person that thinks this is without issue.  I can go on and on and on about how disgusted this makes me feel, but I won't.  Everyone else already is and will be over the next little while.  Instead, I choose to honor the memory of a dog that, to my knowledge, I have never encountered.  I would like to introduce you to the dogs that have enlightened my life.

    I cannot start anywhere else other than Sam.  Sam was my childhood dog.  She was a schnauzer that my family, by some means, inherited.  Sam fell in love with both my brother and I and was very protective of us both.  My mom tells the story that at night Sam would walk into my room, then my brother's, then would sleep right between our two doors once she knew we were safe in bed.  My mom jokes that she could never lose me because all she needed to do was drive around town and wherever Sam was sitting on the front step, she knew that I must be inside.  Sam used to run alongside my bike when I rode around town.  Over time and as she got older, she couldn't keep up and would walk home when her body couldn't take her any further.  One day I rode to the store to pick up a wrestling magazine and as I sat and read it in front of the store, Sam began moaning.  She had made it all the way to the store this time.  By the time I was able to find help, Sam was gone.  That was over twenty years ago but it still makes me cry while I write this.

     I had two dogs in my early twenties.  I have absolutely no recollection of what the first dog's name was.  My girlfriend and I were given the dog because someone didn't want their dog.  A few months later we were all outside, the dog was tied up by a rope.  After some time we looked around and realized the dog was nowhere to be found.  He had somehow escaped the rope.  We looked and looked and looked for the dog with no luck whatsoever.  As my girlfriend was out looking, I took the initiative of calling the Humane Society.  As it turned out, they indeed had our dog and told me that it would cost some sum of money to get him back.  When I informed my girlfriend that they had the dog and we would need to pay this money, she decided that the dog was not worth it.  I was of the opinion that he was.  I lost.

     My second early twenties dog was Hershey.  My girlfriend decided that we should get a dog for her two kids.  We went to a flea market to look at a poodle which was advertised as a puppy, but upon review was nowhere close to puppy status.  While she went off to argue with the vendor if "reserving" the dog meant we were "taking" the dog, her son and I looked at other litters.  I started playing around with a group of puppies, when the little guy asked what kind of dogs they were.  I told him they were schnauzers and that I had had one as a kid.  Instantly he wanted one of them and ultimately we did get one, which was the afore mentioned, Hershey.  Now we got this dog because the kids begged to have one.  There was nothing more, according to them, that they wanted.  The dog, according to them, would be taken care of by them without any help from their mother or myself.  However, over time, according to them, they did not have time to feed, bathe, walk or even interact with the dog.  So, with my girlfriend not being a dog person, Hershey became my dog.  Which I was fine with truth be told.  Couple years later, the girlfriend and I went through a rather difficult breakup.  I insisted that I take Hershey with me because she had no use for the dog and the children had lost interest a long time before.  She responded by saying that the dog belonged to the kids and that there was no way I could have the dog.  I told her that if she ever changed her mind and wanted the dog gone, to get a hold of me.  ( See where this is going? )  Three months later I stopped by to pick up some items I had forgotten.  Things were okay with her and I.  We sat and chatted, I hung out with the kids.  It wasn't a terrible visit.  Until I asked where the dog was.  I was told that she gave the dog away about two weeks after I walked out the door.  I asked why she never told me she was getting rid of the dog.  She told me with a laugh "What do you expect, I was mad at you at the time."  I walked out the door again and never walked back through.

     I'm trying my best to think of a justifiable reason why this dog ended up in the canal.  I'm having a very hard time coming up with any type of answer.  The only thing that keeps crossing my mind is that there must have been another option.  Put an ad in the paper.  Bring the dog to the Humane Society.  If the dog was ill, take them to the vet and humanely have them put down.  I would prefer that they bring the dog to my store and allow me or someone else to do something.  I'll even take cats.  Contrary to what my wife says, I am not a cat person.  But no animal deserves to leave this world in such a way.  Sorry if I went backwards on the happy scale.  Monday will be better, I promise.

     Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

- Matthew Terry

That One Person In Australia

     The past couple days I have taken in some concern that I am not in a "good place".  Apparently, my last couple BLOGS have not been very happy ones.  Frankly, I thought the one with Alan Carter ( @ACarterglobal ) was pretty funny, but others saw it as being down on myself and the things I've done.  Then yesterday, I wrote about how I get down when everyone doesn't like me.  So, it would seem I need to prove to my friends, family, someone in the United Kingdom and one person in Australia, that I'm doing just fine.

     So, allow me to address that one person in Australia.  Well, at least who I think that one person is.  I tend to believe that the one person is Aaron Berry.  Who is Aaron Berry you may ask?  Aaron Berry went to St. Leonard's Catholic School with me.  I think it was for only one year, maybe two.  But for someone who had such a small sample period, I seem to remember a lot about Aaron.

     Aaron came from Australia to Canada.  I don't remember if it was a student exchange, or maybe his parents were transferred here for business.  I was somewhere in the range of eight to, maybe, eleven years old, so the circumstances were not priority to me.  Regardless, I do remember him coming from Australia.  I remember him explaining to the class how long it took for his family to go from there to here.  However, I do not remember how long it took them, but I do remember a chorus of "Woa's" that the time brought from everyone.

     I remember Aaron being able to spell Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.  The word from Mary Poppins.  I know I couldn't spell the damn thing at the time.  Heck, I couldn't spell it now.  I had to find it on Google, then copy and paste it into here.  That in itself makes it impressive when twenty-five years later, I can't do what he did.  Think of how impressed the class was when he wrote it on the blackboard and the teacher told him that he was right.  I remember someone saying that no one could write a bigger word.  To which I retorted that anyone could if they wrote the same word with only bigger lettering.  I still think that's funny.  But, no one did then.

     I remember Aaron was close friends with Chris Hilliard.  I don't really have anything funny or insightful to write about their friendship, but I may never get the chance to tell this story again, so here goes.  I had a huge crush on Rochelle O'Hearn (sp?).  Chris Hilliard had a crush on Rochelle O'Hearn (sp?).  Chris Hilliard was 100% more popular, 100% more athlete and 100% more likely to impress Rochelle then I was.  However, on a school skiing trip we had to take a skiing class before they would allow us on the bigger hills.  If you failed, you were relegated to the bunny hill.  Chris passed with flying colors.  I failed in a blaze of glory.  Guess who else failed.  Rochelle O'Hearn (sp?).  So Matthew got to ski with Rochelle on the bunny hill all day long.  Nothing ever came of Rochelle and I and I don't believe anything came of Chris and her either.  But for one day, fluke as it may have been, I got one instance over the popular kid.

     Oh yea, Aaron.  I may or may not remember correctly, but I think his girlfriend for a time was Kelly O'Brien.  Or maybe Kelly O'Brien had a crush on him.  Then again, maybe someone else had a crush on him and twenty-five years of filing away memories inexplicably put Kelly O'Brien in that role.  No matter.  I do remember that the general consensus was that Aaron Berry was "cute".  I didn't think he was that cute myself.  But that's born out of not being able to judge the attractiveness of a fellow boy at such a young age.  I hope it was not a case that I was void of the masculine security I enjoy now.  In fact, thanks to FACEBOOK, I can report that Aaron Berry is indeed a very attractive man today.  Very well conditioned with a very handsome look to him.  So, if that translates to him being an attractive elementary student, then so be it.

     Then, before I knew it, Aaron was gone.  Him and his family returned to Australia.  The circumstances of which I do not remember, but again, were probably not priority at the time.  I think a lot about my past.  About the people I went to school with and grew up alongside.  The smallest things set my memory in motion.  Today, it was a small shading on a map that indicated that one single person from Australia reads my BLOG.  With no other explanation, I would assume it is Aaron.  If it is, then I appreciate my old friend taking the time to check it out.  If it happens to not be him.  Apparently, I'm starting to get over in the Land Down Under.  It puzzles me who that one person in the UK is, though.

    The Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip ofof your ear.

- Matthew Terry

Sometimes, It Just Does Not Work Out

     I keep telling myself that everyone does not need to like me.  I don't need to be friends, or even on good terms with every single individual in my life.  I've always had that problem.  I don't enjoy being disliked.  I assume no one enjoys it, but I really let it get to me if someone doesn't at least think that I'm a good person.  But it is hard sometimes.  It's been hard lately.

     One time, my wife, a few friends and I went to Varadero, Cuba.  We decided to take one of those Catamaran excursions.  While out on the boat, my friend and I met a family from Quebec.  The more and more we talked with this family, the more and more it seemed apparent that they much preferred the company of my friend.  Their conversations flowed, where our seemed labored.  They shared laughs where we shared awkward stares.  They related to each other while we seemed to remain strangers.  Several days later, I ran into that family at a flea market downtown.  We smiled, we said hello, they asked where my friend was, I told them he wasn't with me and things basically ended there.  I would like to believe that I didn't say or do anything to put these people off.  Sometimes, it just doesn't work out the way you thought it would.

     Pretty recently, a co-worker of mine, became engaged to be married.  I say "co-worker" because I feel odd saying that we are friends.  I thought we were friends.  Maybe we are friends.  Just not good friends, maybe.  I thought we were good friends.  Good enough to be invited to his wedding.  Which I was not.  He's been having some ordeals with people RSVP'ing to the wedding the past several weeks. Taking into account that I don't have an RSVP card to RSVP with, must mean that he is not expecting any type of response if I will be attending or not.  I am 100% sure that it is not a matter of not wanting me at his wedding.  Him and I are friendly and are on great terms.  Sometimes, it just doesn't work out the way you thought it would.

     There are times where you just expect things to be happy and good, but they just are not.  When someone marries into your family, I think there is an expectation for you to be friends.  It almost seems foreign when you and that other person just don't mesh.  I realize that sometimes I come across as abrasive.  It is a trait that many people can take the wrong way, especially in a social media setting where tone is absent.  However, when you and a person have known one and other for more than twenty years, those misunderstandings simply become examples of being incompatible.  The two of you are just not meant to be friends.  I am who I am and they are who they are and eventually you realize that the two of you just don't mix.  And that is more than okay.  Especially when you only see or speak to that person once in a calendar year.  It's not a matter of disliking or wishing bad things on that person.  Sometimes, it just doesn't work out the way you thought it would.

     The Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

- Matthew Terry

Not Trying To Make Fun Of The Man, But ...

     Have you seen Alan Carter ( @ACarterglobal )?  Alan Carter is a political analyst.  At least I think he is.  That is not a knock on his ability to do his job, I'm just not sure what his job title is exactly.  Alan Carter seems quite intelligent, very well read, very well educated and is also very engaging and entertaining.  I can honestly not devise a negative thing to say about the man.  All that being said, and in no way trying to make fun of Alan Carter, what's the deal with his equilibrium?  Why is it that every time I see this man on my television/monitor, it looks like he's about to fall off his chair?

     Is it an inner ear thing?  Some type of vertigo?  I would never make fun of someone's medical difficulty, I assure you.  Several years ago I had something called  Benign paroxysmal positional vertigo (BPPV) .  Basically, I took a blow to the head and a piece of bone or other material broke away and caused my inner ears to not be equal.  Every time I would tilt my head upwards, especially when I laid down for sleep, I would see the room spinning and would need to squint my eyes really tight until the "roller coaster" came to a complete stop.  Which is how I ride regular roller coasters actually.   Thankfully, over time, my body naturally dissolved the intruding object and I no longer need to squint my eyes.

     I have a family member who has suffered from alcohol abuse.  I would never make light of someone who needs a good belt first thing in the morning to level off and get started.  Although, if this is the case, I strongly disagree with Alan Carter displaying himself on our TV screens in an altered state.  Years ago, when I was finishing up high school, friends and I would sometimes go across the street to the fair grounds and drink a couple beers during lunch.  On one of these occasions, my lunch hour was followed by what was referred to as "SPARE PERIOD".  Which now gave me an extra hour to consume a couple more beers before returning to class.  As I'm sure you can imagine, I returned to class in no condition to be educated.  My teacher, who was not an idiot, saw that I was altered, but did allow me to wait it out as long as I was not a disruption.  She later told me that there were several times she thought I was going to topple completely out of my desk.

     Alan Carter's head seems to be pretty proportionate to the rest of him.  Although, most of the time I see him from the waist up and maybe he doesn't have exceptional core muscles.  I know for a fact that I have a very large pumpkin (Ode To Paul).  My beautiful and caring wife said just this morning, when I playfully used her stomach as a pillow, that my head felt like a giant bowling ball.  Put that into perspective.  Not just a bowling ball, but a GIANT bowling ball.  Think of how heavy a bowling ball is and super-size it.  It's a wonder that I don't have more back and neck problems then I already have.  Although, I am thinking that thirty-seven years has gotten me used to dealing with it.  Hence why I myself don't just fall over uncontrollably.

     I'm not trying to make fun of Alan Carter.  If you take a quick look back, I really am not making fun of him.  My confession is that I have only seen Alan Carter three times, and although he genuinely does seem to be a little off balance, I attribute it to him being a very animated orator and not having any medical, medicinal or proportionate issues.  In fact, I make quite the fool of myself.  Which is completely well and good.  The old saying is that if you cannot laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at?  Well, Alan Carter actually.  He really is that entertaining.

     Shin Kicker says take the Q-Tip out of your ear.

-Matthew Terry

TRUST ME, THEY KNOW

By: Matthew Terry

                I pulled into work today and came across a man who was standing outside his car smoking a cigarette.  I am guessing that this man is hiding his habit from someone.  Be it a wife, girlfriend, partner, roommate or such.  I am guessing this because the location he had chosen suggested that he was not patronizing the stores in which our plaza offers.  He was not there to do laundry, he was not picking up Fish and Chips, he was not there to bottle wine (because, obviously, I had yet to open the store).  He was a good ten yards from the building when the parking situation far from required such a distance.

                I do not intend to tattle on this man.  I am not offering up any kind of description of him or his very nice vehicle (more on that shortly).  In fact, I am only trying to help him by saying to him, and anyone else who is hiding cigarette smoking from someone, trust me, they know.

                I smoked for fourteen years.  I quit REGULARILY smoking nine years ago.  I smoke when I am on Cuban soil and I also tend to partake of cigarettes when I am working wrestling events as a ring announcer.  Take my word for it, there is no amount of hand cleanser, no amount of gum and no amount of spray on cologne that can mask the fact that you have sucked back a cigarette at some point in the past twelve hours.  How I know this is simple.  I have tried to mask that odor numerous times from my wife.  Notice I did not say that I have tried to hide smoking from my wife.  My wife knows that I tend to smoke at wrestling events and she absolutely hates it.  However, quitting was my choice (although by her request), and ultimately my wife cannot force me to stop.  That being said, I try and eliminate the odor the best I can before I return home, for her sake.  Believe me, I have tried everything in my powers to do so, but have failed every single time.

                Now, let us return to our subject outside the plaza.  Let us give him any benefit of the doubt we can.  Maybe he’s not able (notice I did not say “allowed”) to smoke inside the car.  I did mention it was a beautiful, perhaps even new, car in which he was smoking beside.  If that is the fact, then this man has a serious smoking problem of a different kind, when he cannot even make it to work before he needs to light up.  Maybe he was waiting for someone to meet him at the plaza and decided to have a smoke while he waited.  Well, from the ‘You needed to be there.’ file, he did not meet anyone.  In the time it took me to park and get out of my vehicle, I saw him toss away his cigarette and re-enter his vehicle.  Driving away before I even got inside the store.  Maybe he had already met someone, who was gone by the time you arrived and he was having a cigarette before he got into his car.  So, you’re basically saying he had sex in his car, said his goodbyes and was having a cigarette afterwards.  If so, he has a lot more than the smoking skeleton in his closet.

                Of course, these blogs are mostly entertainment.  Things like this are created and fermented by my imagination and the odds are usually pretty good that I am way off base.  I’m sure if I would have stopped and inquired why he needed to have a cigarette at that time and at that location, there may very well have been a reasonable explanation.  However, if not, and once again, if anyone out there is flattering themselves thinking that someone just doesn’t know.  Trust me, they know.